


An Eye For An Eye, A Tooth For A Tooth

by Averia



Series: Your Heart, My Hands [3]
Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Averia/pseuds/Averia
Summary: Mercenaries know: Retribution can be so sweet.





	An Eye For An Eye, A Tooth For A Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This references [2012's Batman #7](https://scans-daily.dreamwidth.org/3687315.html?thread=123509395&s2id=103756) and therefore mentiones abusive behaviour

"Mhhh, it was a good decision to forgo Alfred's cooking after all," Dick pipes up behind him, his next words a whisper into his ear, " _Smells delicious, Slade._ " Paired with the kiss to his cheek it's one of the best greetings Slade has ever gotten. Dick skips past him to open the pots, an eagerness to him that puts five-year-olds to shame.

"Such high praise before you tried?" Slade questions from his place at the table, placing his phone away to stand. He means to sound skeptical and fails. Sometimes, even he is weak for a little praise from specific people.

"I like everything you cook," Dick responds, offended and gives him the plates. His lips quiver around the laugh he is holding in. "Cause it's made with looove."

The grin reaches his eyes, but they don't light up brighter than Metropolis' sky. Standing right in front of him, Dick can no longer hide the bruise building on his swollen cheek.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Dick replies, voice mellowing out, growing soft and lofty, "A goon got a lucky hit in, that's all. You know how it is."

He does; doesn't mean he believes.

By the time dinner is served, the bruise on Dick's skin has deepened, the darkest spot strangely placed against the back of his jaw. Dick bites and chews with a single-minded focus Slade is used to see on rooftops far more often than away from them. Every swallow pulls his face together in a grimace, no matter how craftily Dick tries to hide it. And, oh, he tries, tries so damn hard. Slade's dinner lies forgotten in front of him.

"Who?" His voice comes out low. The question tightens his throat.

Dick swallows - face pinching, the line of his shoulders tense.

"Doesn't matter," The words are fast, mouth stuffed with food in the next second.

Slade breathes through, eye closing for a moment. The metal of his knife is a calming cold beneath his fingertips.

"Can't I be worried?" he coaxes; hand twitching to reach out.

Dick glances up at him.

"I'm fine," his gaze jumps to the cooked lamb loins, "Just... a little trouble chewing."

"Are you going to tell me why?"

Dick shifts again, muscles tense as if he is prepared to duck. The motion hides the bruise, offers his other cheek.

"Missing back tooth."

Slade assesses the bruise. One of his size. Someone strong. Someone Dick trusts.

_Wayne._

"Why?" he asks, leans back against the chair, hands interlacing. Knocking his children's teeth out is a new low, even for the Bat.

Dick swallows, opens his mouth, doesn't say a thing for a while. His lips leave a bloody smear on the white napkin.

"He had a reason."

It's a testament to their relationship that Dick knows Slade figured it out, that he has enough trust to presume Slade is not going to stand up in the next second to hunt down the man who dares to hurt what is so obviously his.

"I'm sure he could have solved whatever petty conflict you had in another way."

A back tooth is too specific. If at all, Dick should be missing a front tooth.

"It wasn't," Dick stops, lips thinning before he can say _petty_.

Slade waits.

"Maybe," Dick admits, shoulders falling with his deflating rage.

"Absolutely," Slade pushes.

The blue eyes regard him, shimmer with a wetness that won't fall. Whatever Wayne did wasn’t justified. It's painfully obvious. A crooked smile rises on Dick's lips, crooked but hopeful.

"I didn't come here tonight so you could run off and beat Bruce up," he laughs, back of his hand brushing over his eyes, "Just - If you love me - Just get me an ice pack and watch iZombie with me."

Slade nods - once, twice - then he stands up, gets the ice pack. It's not as if they will get past the first few episodes of the show. Dick starts a new TV series once a week without ever finishing the last. It's part of the kid's charm, or so Slade keeps telling himself.

Hours later, Dick is vast asleep against him, the ice pack on the floor in front of the couch and long since devoid of any coldness. Slade can't stop brushing over the swollen, hot cheek, gaze stuck to the flickering TV.

"Wintergreen," he greets; phone screen cold against his ear. The world regains its focus. "Contact my lawyers. I want Bane out of prison in under a week."

"Bane?" Wintergreen's voice distorts over the phone, "Why Bane?"

"He's broken Wayne before." Slade's fingertips travel down the bruised cheek, over the side of Dick's neck. "I want him to do it again."

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [Aveaveria](http://aveaveria.tumblr.com/)


End file.
